


The Other End

by pastelwitchling



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Malex, malex happily ever after, small happy ending sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28321767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelwitchling/pseuds/pastelwitchling
Summary: Alex is leaving Roswell, and only wants to see Michael one last time.
Relationships: Michael Guerin & Alex Manes, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 17
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr, I offered my followers their choice of whatever one-shot they wanted to have a happy ending. I would take two of those most-selected, and give them each a second part where I would write malex their happily ever after. I'm at a point in my writing where I feel like an unhappy ending is an unfinished ending. So. Two have been chosen.  
> Here's the first one. The second is hopefully coming VERY soon.  
> This first part was initially chapter 88 of my one-shot collection. I'm reposting it here as 'Chapter One', and 'Chapter Two' will be the happy ending sequel.  
> I've been getting requests for a sequel to this since the day I posted it to tumblr. All I can say now is that I hope it lives up to your expectations. Oh. And Happy Christmas.

The ringing began quietly, then as the days passed, the calls unanswered, they echoed throughout the cabin walls alongside Buffy’s gruff responses, as if urging the person on the other end to pick up. Alex kept the phone on speaker. He knew there would be no response.

_“This is Guerin,”_ the automated voice finally came, and Alex stopped in the midst of packing, his hands on his suitcase, his shoulders slumped with a sigh. _“Don’t know how you got this number, but whatever it is, make it quick.”_

The _beep_ sounded like an execution sentence. Buffy barked once, twice as Alex made his way over to the phone. He picked it up. Enough was enough.

“Hey, Guerin,” he said, holding the phone with one hand as he looked around for his navy jacket. It was cold in New York around this time of year, wasn’t it? “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the past few weeks, and I really didn’t want to have to do this over the phone, but… I guess it is what it is.”

He took a deep breath, shutting another suitcase. “I’m leaving Roswell. I got a job offer in New York and I took it. There’s no home for me here anymore,” he said as he picked a loose thread on his couch. He cleared his throat. “My plane leaves tonight, and I’m…” he checked the time on his phone, “just about to leave.” He tapped his thigh. He sat down. He looked around the walls that had shielded him these past two years, the shelter that had been left for him when he thought he wouldn’t get one.

He thought of Michael, his home, wondering if the cowboy was listening at all, if he would bother listening to the voicemail once he saw who it was from. Alex thought of the look on Michael’s face when he’d found out about the relationship with Maria, how he had looked at Alex as if he couldn’t see him. Just another Manes Man, meant to haunt his dreams and nothing more.

Alex knew his name would never leave him, that he would never forget that look in the eyes of the man he loved. He just hoped that, after this big change, the punishment would finally stop.

Maybe it was because of that hope, because of the fact that he was leaving and he was desperate, maybe because part of him knew Michael would not listen to what he had to say that he threw caution and permission to the wind and blurted, “I want to see you.”

He was surprised at the tremble in his voice, how his fingers shook against his jeans. Even Buffy seemed to notice something breaking as she came over, her big brown eyes looking up at Alex as if asking, Are you okay?

Alex rested a hand on her head, her soft, warm fur easing some of the tension in his stomach.

“Guerin,” he said, and cleared his throat again. “ _Michael_. I’ve never asked you for anything. I’m asking for this now. Please. Please, just… come over. Come over now, let me see you just once, and… and you’ll never have to see me again.”

He took in a shuddering breath, and confessed, “All I can think about is the way you looked at me the last time we saw each other. Like… like you hated me. I’m begging you, don’t let me leave with that. _Please_ just come over.”

He exhaled slowly, turning the phone away, then, “I absolutely have to leave in two hours. I’ll wait until the last possible second. Okay? I’m waiting.”

He hung up, and only realized later that he had been clutching the phone so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Buffy licked his hand, and Alex forced himself to let go.

With a slight whimper, her eyes on Alex, Buffy seemed to ask, What do you think?

Alex nodded, if only to himself. “He’ll come. He’ll be here.”

An hour passed, which was already more than Alex had expected, another half hour, and his heart plummeted into his stomach as he sat in the cold darkness, waiting. Ten minutes until he had to leave, and Alex realized he had better start loading his two suitcases into his car. All the furniture was draped with white sheets, everything else packed away in boxes that Kyle was going to have sent over to Alex’s new apartment once he got settled.

“Hang on, girl,” he told Buffy before she jumped into the passenger seat, his voice hollow. “Not yet. We have another minute.”

Buffy seemed to lower her head, her sad eyes on him, yet she said nothing.

Alex tapped his thumb on the hood of the car, and swallowed. “We have another minute.”

The seconds ticked by, and Alex found himself wishing they’d freeze. Michael was just running a little late. The minute passed, and no sign of the cowboy.

As a last desperate attempt, Alex pulled his phone out, his hands shaking, his heart doing a drumroll in his chest. He dialed Michael’s number. The phone rang. Nothing.

Alex shook his head, his brows furrowed, his eyes burning. “H… He’s really not coming?”

Buffy growled as if desperate to kill someone.

“No, no,” he muttered. “M – Maybe, maybe he’s on his way right now. We’ll wait another minute.”

But that minute passed, too, and so did the one after, and the one after that. It was another ten minutes before Buffy barked urgently. It was time to go.

Alex looked around, still half-expecting to see gold curls or an old truck or even a panting Michael making his way to him. But there was no one. It reminded him of something, a miserable few hours he’d spent waiting outside the airstream, expecting the man he loved to come, and never getting it.

Alex took his seat, feeling heavier than ever before, his heart like an anchor, unwilling to rise or beat again. “I really thought he’d come,” he muttered, and feeling horrifyingly numb, he turned the key, and made his way away from the cabin. Still, he drove slowly, a small, foolish part of him hoping the cowboy would stop him. He never did.

Nothing was different. The sky had some dark clouds, the leaves rustled in the wind, the desert lay silent, there was the faint sound of music and chatter coming from a few of the bars and restaurants in town. Alex, despite himself, couldn’t help but wonder what Michael was doing now. He wondered if he’d ever even read the voicemail. He stopped at a red light, pulled out his phone, and – taking a deep breath – he tried to call again.

_“This is Guerin_ ,” the automated voice responded, and Alex was left staring at the green light, his phone against his ear.

Despite it all, Alex could not help the small, sad upward quirk of his lips. “I love you,” he breathed, and maybe it wasn’t the thing to say now, and maybe Michael would hate him more for it, and maybe it was part of the hysterical laughter bubbling in his throat, but he wanted to say it. He wanted the last thing he ever told Michael to be the truth.

“I love you I love you _I love you_ ,” he said, his voice barely over a whisper, his eyes burning. Oddly enough, he didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or cry. “And I want you to know that even if we spend a hundred years apart, I’ll still love you with every cell in my body. And you can be disgusted that a Manes loves you, but a Manes _loves_ you, and I’ll never be sorry for that because you are the _best_ thing that’s ever happened to me, Guerin.”

He huffed a miserable laugh as a tear fell, said, “I really wanted to see you,” and hung up.


	2. Chapter 2

Michael wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand before he went back to wrenching. In one day alone, he’d changed the tires of four different cars that had come in for a simple checkup, refilled the water tank of a truck, and replaced the engine of some middle-aged man’s sports car. He couldn’t even remember what he was doing now to the teenager’s Civic, but he had to keep working.

That had been his mindset the past few days. _Keep on working._ Even as his bones ached, his muscles throbbed, his skin burned under the blazing sun, and the smell of gasoline and car fumes just became too overwhelming. If he kept working, he didn’t think about . . .

_Shut up, shut up, shut up_ , he silently warned, putting his back into whatever he was supposed to be doing. He guessed securing some wires, but whether or not he made things worse didn’t really matter to him. Fixing his mistakes meant more hours working, which meant more exhaustion, which meant no time to think.

When he heard a car driving into the junkyard, he looked up. The first time in what felt like _weeks_ that he wasn’t under a hood.

Max climbed out, his hands in his pockets. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” Michael raised a brow. “How’s work back with the sheriff?”

His brother shrugged a shoulder, then stepped back, scrunching his nose. “You _reek_ , dude. When’s the last time you showered?”

Michael raised an arm and sniffed. He coughed. “Hard week’s work,” he said, airing out his shirt which was as soaked in sweat as the rest of him.

“Work, huh?” Max raised an unconvinced brow at the car. “Yeah.” He pulled out Michael’s phone from his pocket, handing it to him. “Take it back.”

Michael’s shoulders fell. He went back to the hood of the car. “You’re really bad at this, Max,” he said. “I told you I needed _you_ to keep it, remember?”

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “If you want to talk to him, just _talk_ to him.”

Michael’s grip on the wrench turned tighter. “I keep hanging onto his texts, _waiting_ for his calls. At least if it stays with you, I won’t be tempted to answer.”

“But _why_?” he demanded. “Michael, _look at you_! You’ve been avoiding him in town, too, you’re clearly losing your mind not talking to him. And for what? Because you feel guilty about dating one of his best friends?”

Michael let the wrench fall, coming around the car to his brother. “That is _not_ why.”

“Yes, it is,” Max said calmly. “And then he got to choose Forrest, and you couldn’t stand that he was happy for a single second with someone other than _you_.”

Michael stepped back, feeling like he’d been slapped. “I – I want Alex to be happy –”

“See, that’s exactly my point,” Max said. “ _I’m_ not the one you should be saying this to.” He held out the phone again. “Look, I can’t do it anymore. He kept calling last night, I felt so bad I almost answered.”

Michael faltered. “He . . . he kept calling?”

In lieu of answering, Max nudged the phone at him. Michael hesitated, then took it. He frowned at the screen, a kind of dread already settling in his chest. “Two voicemails . . .”

He looked up to Max with a silent question, but Max only shook his head. “I didn’t listen to them,” he promised.

Michael kind of wished he had. He hadn’t heard Alex’s voice in his ear in too long a time, and listening to it now . . . Michael didn’t know what could happen to his body, the kind of instinctive reaction he could have.

He swallowed, and clicked the first voicemail.

_“Hey, Guerin. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the past few weeks, and I really didn’t want to have to do this over the phone, but . . . I guess it is what it is.”_

Michael frowned. Max shook his head as if to ask, _What’s wrong?_ Michael held up a hand, a signal to wait as he heard Alex take a deep breath. There was shuffling in the background, like someone zipping something shut.

_“I’m leaving Roswell.”_

Michael’s breath stopped in his throat, his heart no longer beating. Max noticed and put a hand on his shoulder, but Michael couldn’t hear him.

_“I got a job offer in New York and I took it. There’s no home for me here anymore. My plane leaves tonight, and I’m . . . just about to leave.”_

“No,” Michael breathed.

“Michael,” Max whispered. “What is it?”

 _“I want to see you,”_ Alex’s trembling voice came, and Michael froze. If his heart had stopped, why did it feel so heavy at the pit of his stomach?

_“Guerin._ Michael _. I’ve never asked you for anything. I’m asking for this now. Please. Please, just . . . come over. Come over now, let me see you just once, and . . . and you’ll never have to see me again.”_

Michael was already running to his truck, ignoring Max’s calls to him. He was in such a hurry that he slammed on the gas while the car was still in park. He quickly fixed that as Alex’s voicemails played over speakerphone from the passenger seat.

_“All I can think about is the way you looked at me the last time we saw each other. Like . . . like you hated me.”_

“I could never hate you, Private,” Michael whispered, breaking every speed limit on his way to Alex’s house. “I thought you hated _me_.”

 _“I’m begging you, don’t let me leave with that._ Please _just come over.”_

“I’m coming, baby,” he said, the panic only growing and rising up his throat. He was either going to be sick or start crying, or both. “I’m coming.”

_“I absolutely have to leave in two hours. I’ll wait until the last possible second. Okay? I’m waiting.”_

“Alex.” A sob escaped Michael’s lips before he inhaled sharply and forced it back. He’d get there. _These messages are from last night_ , a small voice in the back of his mind taunted. _He’s long gone by now._

“ _Shut up_ ,” he grit his teeth. “I’ll get to him.”

He’d barely parked in front of the house and grabbed his phone, Alex’s voice the only anchor he had to earth, and used his powers to swing the door open.

“Alex!” he called as he stormed inside. “Alex, where are you?!”

He froze. The furniture was all covered in white sheets to protect it from dust, the windows were closed and curtained, the piano Alex had had in the corner packed away and gone. Michael stumbled inside, looking around. The lights had all been turned off, the glasses and plates dry and tidied away, and the TV unplugged. Nobody lived here anymore.

Michael’s eyes burned as he looked around, imagining Alex pack up everything he wanted to take, thinking nobody cared to come see him. Thinking Michael wouldn’t care to stop him. Then he saw it. Against the back wall, untouched and still in its case, was the guitar Alex had tried giving him nearly a year ago.

Michael’s legs felt heavy as he made his way to it, sitting down beside the case. He traced the hard black leather with his fingertips, his phone beside him playing Alex’s last voicemail.

 _“I love you,”_ Alex breathed, and Michael looked down, eyes wide and filled with tears. _“I love you I love you_ I love you _. And I want you to know that even if we spend a hundred years apart, I’ll still love you with every cell in my body. And you can be disgusted that a Manes loves you, but a Manes_ loves _you, and I’ll never be sorry for that because you are the_ best _thing that’s ever happened to me, Guerin.”_

A miserable laugh, then -- _“I really wanted to see you.”_ And the line went dead.

The silence was deafening, even as the blood rushed in Michael’s ears and all he could hear was his heart thudding painfully against his ribs. With trembling fingers, he reached out and hugged the guitar case close against him. The edges cut into his jaw, but he held it tighter as tears silently fell down his cheeks.

He didn’t know Alex’s new number. He didn’t know where in New York Alex was going. He didn’t know the kind of job Alex had. He didn’t know anything. He thought back to the previous few weeks, the way Alex had come up to him at the Crashdown, the junkyard, even coming to the Wild Pony.

“Guerin, _please_ ,” he’d always said, desperate. “I need to talk to you.”

“Later.”

“But it’s _important_!”

“Just come back later, okay?”

“I’m going to –”

“Not now, Alex!”

And he’d be gone. All that time, Alex had been trying to tell him, to _beg_ him to listen. Maybe what he’d really wanted was for Michael to beg him to stay. And Michael had never even stopped. He struggled to think of the last time he really listened to what Alex was trying to tell him.

Michael didn’t move. He didn’t answer Max’s calls, or Sanders’s. He stayed against the wall, hugging the guitar case close to him. Long after the sun had come down did Michael finally force himself to his feet, his phone left behind on the living room floor, feeling drunk and heavy despite having not had a drop.

He came into Alex’s bedroom, and his red and puffy eyes burned again at Alex’s scent, faint but lingering in the small space. He looked through the closet for something of Alex’s, but all he found was a single Air Force sweater folded in the back, forgotten in the shadows. He picked it up with one hand, his other arm still holding onto the guitar. He took off his own shirt and put on Alex’s. He got into the right side of the bed, Alex’s preferred side. Always leaving room for Michael.

He turned his face into the pillow, inhaling Alex’s maple shampoo. He pulled the blanket up to his chin, pressing his nose and lips against the soft fabric. His eyes were shut tight, but a tear escaped down the bridge of his nose regardless.

“Sleep,” he begged his tired but all-too-awake mind. “Go to sleep.” Because when he woke up, this nightmare would be over, wouldn’t it? Alex would be back. Here and safe in his arms.

Michael kept repeating the words until, before he knew it, darkness overcame him.

He woke not long after to the sound of a door opening. He opened his eyes groggily, taking a second to remember where he was. He barely had time to process the lingering heartache before he heard the front door close and some shuffling inside. He sat up, suddenly alert.

Was someone trying to break in? To _Alex’s_ house? Michael clenched his jaw as he heard more shuffling. He pushed the blanket back and swung his legs off the bed. Whoever it was had picked the _wrong_ place.

He thundered past the door, up the hallway, ready to throw whoever dared come in here uninvited into the wall, and stopped. There, looking through his own duffel bag with his earphones in, was Alex. He had his back to Michael, the lamplight casting him into warm yellow light and dark shadows, and the music – it sounded like Welcome to the Black Parade – was blasting in his ears. It was no wonder he hadn’t heard Michael moving around inside.

Michael took another step closer, not daring to hope. Alex was here, _right here_ , in front of him.

Alex’s movements were slow as he pulled out a pair of sweats and a blue Air Force t-shirt, his limp worse than usual. He turned towards the narrow hallway, and jumped at the sight of Michael. His wide eyes looked from Michael’s face to his own sweater that Michael was wearing, rumpled and obviously slept in.

“ _Alex_ ,” Michael breathed, unable to trust his eyes.

Alex seemed to feel the same way because he stepped forward slowly, his brows furrowed. He reached out, his fingertips barely grazing Michael’s jaw, making Michael’s heart stutter in his chest, before he yanked his hand back with a gasp.

“I’m not crazy,” he muttered. “I’m – I’m not losing it. A-Am I?”

Michael opened his mouth, a million thoughts running in his head. _You’re here. I was scared I’d never see you again. I love you._

In the end, he settled on a weak, “I got your voicemail.”

Alex’s frown deepened. “You’re real.”

“Y-You said you were going to be in New York.”

Alex’s gaze fell to the floor, as if ashamed. “I was. I got there, got Buffy back to Forrest, and . . . I came back. I couldn’t stay.”

Michael dared take another step closer. Alex noticed and said nothing. “Why not?”

Alex shrugged a shoulder, the weight of everything he’d been carrying these past few weeks alone showing in the red lines of his eyes, the tired slump of his entire body, the messy strands of his hair, as if he’d spent all day running an anxious hand through it.

Then, in a quiet voice that permanently fractured Michael’s heart, he said, “Because you’re here.” He huffed a resigned chuckle. “Guess I’m just that pathetic. I can’t move on from you, no matter how badly I want to.”

“ _Alex_ ,” he took another step closer, closer than an arm’s length away. As close as they’d been that day in the airstream, before they’d fallen in together. “Baby –”

“I _tried_ ,” Alex cut him off through grit teeth, his words breaking, “I t-tried to tell you. You wouldn’t listen.”

“I know –"

“And then all I wanted was to see you, and you wouldn’t even give me that.”

“My phone was with Max,” he said right away. “I – I gave it to Max.”

Alex’s brows furrowed. “Max? _Why_?”

“Because . . .” Michael faltered, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I didn’t want to be tempted to answer you.”

Alex scoffed, a tear falling down his cheek. “You really hate me that much –”

“ _No_!”

“It’s always something, isn’t it?” he said, his expression pained. “Some game, some trick, some lie. It’s _always_ like that with us!” He scoffed, wiping roughly at the escaped tear on his cheek. “And I’m tired. I just spent an entire day going from car to plane to car to plane to car, I haven’t slept in _weeks_ , terrified that I would never see you again and you’d be happier without me, and I’m _tired_ , Guerin. All I wanted was to see you, and I felt like I wasn’t _allowed_ and I –”

“Okay, okay,” Michael closed the distance between them, wrapping Alex in his arms. “Okay, baby, it’s okay. I hear you, I’m listening, okay? I’m right here, I’m listening.”

He didn’t have a plan. He just wanted to hold Alex, to feel his warmth, to let him know he was safe. That Michael would keep him safe no matter what.

Alex’s body was trembling, his cries barely escaping a whimper at a time, as if even now, even so exhausted, Alex still wasn’t letting himself _breathe_. His fingers trembled as they gripped Michael’s sweater, holding him closely. Michael wasn’t planning to ever move away.

“I th-thought you didn’t want to see me,” he sobbed. “I thought you – you wanted me to go. And I still couldn’t, I couldn’t –”

“Shh,” Michael whispered fiercely in his ear and buried his face in the crook of Alex’s neck. “I’m so glad you didn’t, Alex. I never want you to leave. I want you to stay here with me. Forever.”

Michael’s heart vibrated, but he stayed steady for Alex, holding onto him tightly, not letting him move an inch. He felt Alex’s arms come around his waist, holding back just as desperately, sniffling against his shoulder.

“I can’t live without you, Michael,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t.”

Michael pressed his face into Alex’s neck to hide his own tears. “That’s my line,” he managed.

Alex pulled back enough to cup Michael’s face, his fingers lightly grazing his jaw. His brows furrowed slightly. “Why are you wearing my sweater?”

His voice was soft and delicate and weary, and Michael wanted so badly to pull him in again that he didn’t care how his own voice sounded when he said the truth. “It smelled like you.”

Alex’s eyes softened. They fell to Michael’s lips, and Michael’s mouth hung open immediately, waiting, _eager_. Alex came closer, closer. When his mouth covered Michael’s, Michael moaned in relief. The kiss was slow, sensual, deep, lazy. There was no rush here, in the warmth of Alex’s body, his lips, the dark night keeping them hidden and safe when it had seemed deafening only a few hours ago.

They tilted their heads, deepening the kiss further. Alex moaned as his and Michael’s tongues slid against one another. Michael wanted more, to kiss down Alex’s neck, his chest, his stomach. Do whatever it took to get another moan out of him, the sound going straight to his cock. Then Alex’s head came to rest on his shoulder, his kisses less and less coherent.

Michael looked down. Alex was still holding onto him tightly, but his eyes were closed and he was breathing softly. “Alex?”

“Hmm?” he said under his breath. Michael thought of what Alex had said earlier, that he hadn’t slept in weeks, that he’d been moving from place to place, nonstop, for the past twenty-four hours.

Michael shouldn’t have smiled. It was his fault, after all, that Alex was so exhausted. But something about seeing his love curled so tightly around him, able to finally rest because Michael was there, it made his heart swell.

“Hold onto me, baby,” he whispered into Alex’s hair. Alex did not respond, but Michael leaned down anyway, hooking an arm under Alex’s legs and picking him up.

Alex’s eyes fluttered halfway open and he gasped softly, wrapping his arms more tightly around Michael’s shoulders by instinct. Michael grinned and nuzzled his cheek, placing soft kisses against his jaw.

“I love you, Alex,” he whispered, but Alex had already gone back to sleep against his neck, breathing softly against his skin. Michael tightened his hold on the airman as he carried him back to the bedroom, where he planned to keep him.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://pastelwitchling.tumblr.com/)


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